


U.R.A. Fever

by Ghoulie_cruz



Category: Naruto
Genre: Accidental Public Sex, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Even if they won't admit it, Happiness comes in many forms, Horrendously specific prompt, M/M, Two bastards living their best lives, cough cough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26813395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghoulie_cruz/pseuds/Ghoulie_cruz
Summary: Kakashi wonders how he got here.[Enter Obito].
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Obito
Comments: 12
Kudos: 64





	U.R.A. Fever

**Author's Note:**

> From the _very specific_ tumblr prompt that was essentially a plea for smut under the guise of a shady plot:
> 
> Okay okay okay. So Kakaobi are 2 losers who used to be in a band together but never made it big (note: I forgot this part of the prompt, oops). Now they own some back alley shithole excuse of a bar where all the alcohol tastes like a different brand of gasoline and all the regulars are people trying to find oblivion at the bottom of a glass. Closing up consists of doing the books (creatively), doing the dishes (poorly), and doing each other. Just pretentious music lovers talking shit 24/7. Also, long hair.
> 
> Given the prompt, I made a playlist feat. some of my fave Australian artists (plus a few extras) that I’d wanna hear at The Tote on a Thursday night, including Too Late to Die Young by Lost Animal, Bluebeard FLA by New War & The Pyramid by Love of Diagrams. See endnotes for full song list. I hope this is pretentious enough looool...
> 
> Thx to @redshield for giving this a read and me some encouragement (filthy mouths, unite).

The last of the patrons, if you can call them that when everything they order is on credit, stumbles out onto the footpath. Behind them, with the slouch of a man who’s nearly hit his limit, Kakashi bolts the door. He leans against the dented metal, breathes a sigh, something like relief—not because it’s time to close but because he’s made it through another shit-sucking, piece-of-dog-crap week with his liquor license intact. 

This place is a steaming dump.

Graffiti covers the walls, old foam bursts through worn splits in blinding orange vinyl stools. Beer crusts the carpet, dotted with enough cigarette burns that it’s barely carpet at all. 

This place is—

“Oi, Hatake.”

Kakashi turns. Obito’s standing near a jukebox, the one good thing they have, that Obito rigged to play whatever they want, whenever they want it—all their favourite artists; the songs that lift them up, hit them where it hurts, drag them down to hell. Make them thankful. 

There’s a tumbler in Obito’s hand, smudged fingerprints muddling the light from behind him through the glass. 

Obito raises it. Carelessly tips it with a smirk, a teasing _kanpai_ , the juniper-soaked methanol they sell as artisan gin, navy-strength and scarcely legal, sloshing up the side. “Got a request?” 

_Ah._

_It’s one of_ those _nights._

Fingers pressed to his lips, deliberately coy and unmistakably playful, Kakashi mulls it over but Obito is impatient. _Always_ impatient. Doesn’t entertain Kakashi’s pretence. Doesn’t even take the time to wait for his reply.

The cool neon glow of the blue plastic tubes that frame the jukebox screen illuminates Obito’s face. Kakashi watches. Couldn’t look away if he tried. Obito is a _sight_. His dark eyes shine, hold Kakashi’s gaze. Then he’s tapping fingers against the touch-sensitive screen—the only thing in this dive manufactured after 1991—until he smiles. Hits play. 

The neon tubes turn pink as the near-haunted strains of the old Farfisa that marks the intro of _Broken Glass_ by The Murder City Devils starts to shake the speakers. The light, all soft, like a bulb shone through a Benylin and soda, reflects off Obito’s torso, one-side darker than the other where his unscarred skin still tans. His muscles flex, hard abs tightening and relaxing as he breathes, as he works it. Runs the glass in his hand, wet with condensation, from his sternum to his waistband, a glistening trail left in its wake and smoothing the fine hair on his belly. Then, biting his bottom lip, takes his other hand and pops the button on his faded jeans. Obito lives for the attention. Kakashi’s attention—and he’s got it, now.

Kakashi tenses. Knows that he’s staring with so much more than passive interest, mind blank. 

He forgets that just mere moments ago, not more than a minute, he was pondering what he did in a previous life to land him here—running a sleazy joint in a part of town that people mostly like to pretend doesn’t exist. It’s masochism, he thinks, to have let the dreams, the fraying ends that he’s been trying to make meet since before he’d even finished high school fall to the curb and slowly rot—and _for this_. Pulling beers 10 hours a day, Tuesday to Sunday, with a guy who used to hate his guts.

Obito.

Obito, who’s climbing like a cat onto the counter. Obito, on his hands and knees—dirty feet, bare, hips tilted up, back dipped in a way that makes Kakashi dizzy. He’s lithe as he stalks forward, bar mats squelching as he prowls. 

Kakashi is halfway-to-caught prey and Obito is insatiable. Insufferable, when he knows he’s won.

“I’ll have you know,” Kakashi drawls with practiced nonchalance, the lack of interest in his tone belied only by his rigid posture, every filthy impulse telling him to pounce and bite. Nail Obito through the floor. “You’re currently violating several health and safety regulations.” 

Obito unleashes a grin, unabashed and dangerous, and Kakashi shifts, forcibly relaxes. The urge to act is strong and the hunger comes with echoes, a sped-up reel flashing all the things that he could do. Bind Obito’s hands behind his back, slam him face down and shove his dick between those beautifully bruised thighs, on display through well-placed tears. 

Oblivious to the conflict raging inside Kakashi's head—or perhaps, in fact, all too aware—Obito snickers. Offers, “Oh?” Kneels up in challenge. Serves Kakashi with a look that’s nothing short of pornographic, long fingers rubbing up and down his body, over his stomach, in between his valleyed ribs and up and up, to curl around where his hair, sweat-damp and in need of a cut, sticks to his neck. 

Obscene, is what those fingers are. Obscene, and Obito makes it known. Sticks one in his mouth. Makes it pop, lewd and loud, when he pulls it out. Skims white teeth with his tongue. They flash, insidious. _Provocative_. It twists Kakashi’s nerves up. 

Then Obito’s taunting, “So, come reprimand me.”

Kakashi growls, reflexive, low and feral in his throat. But instead of reaching for what’s his, has been his forever, even back when they weren’t friends, were cruel, naive and stubborn, he drags out the nearest chair from a table and sits. Peers up through his long hair, his unruly fringe mostly freed from his loose ponytail. Says, “Maa, you must be lucky. You caught me on a good day.” His gaze doesn’t waver but a wicked smile creeps across his face, purposely incendiary. “I’m feeling lenient,” he says. “You’re off the hook.”

Obito scowls. 

Kakashi can feel his irritation, that he didn’t bend to Obito’s will, Obito’s want—and Kakashi does want him. That’s an honest truth. He would give him anything—at any time. All the time. All of Obito. Ticks, bad habits, moods. The way he smokes, like burning nicotine is air. The way he fucks. God, _the_ _way he fucks._

But it’s been a long night in a lean month in an endless year of dismal recompense and Kakashi’s always been a sadist. Just a little bit. Enough to make Obito huff and whine and shout.

Obito’s sliding off the spot where Aoba’s drink sat not an hour ago, when he called Genma a slut and Gai an eyesore and Raidō as dumb as a bowl of salted squid. Iruka had dragged them out but not before Raidō had taken a swing at Aoba’s booze-flushed cheek and toppled his highball in the process. As ruthless as Raidō is, aim is not a strong suit. 

Obito’s feet land on the floor, his expression pinched with the sting of repudiation. He stands for a beat, shirtless, jeans undone, the lack of underwear evident in the thatch of pubic hair that peeks out just above his gaping zip. 

Then it starts, the indignation. “What—too tired? Too old? You. _Ugh_. Y-you— _ugh_. Since when do you ever pass up an opportunity to—”

Kakashi cuts him off. “Come here.”

“Screw you,” Obito scoffs. “I might let you feed me but I’m not one of your dogs.”

Kakashi snorts. “No shit. They don’t look at me like they want to set me on fire. Mostly.”

Obito rolls his eyes. “Like you’d know. _I’m_ the one that always has to walk them. Let them out when you're just lying around reading your damned—”

“You dramatic bastard. For fuck’s sake, Obito. _Come here_.”

“Nah...” With a glass-cut jaw set to jut and a pair of well-toned arms that cross in bold defiance, Obito says, rankled, “I think I’ll come on _my_ terms.”

Kakashi narrows his one good eye, gleaming and hellish. “Nah,” he parrots, mildly mocking. “I think you’ll come on mine.” 

The innuendo is thick, Kakashi’s flippant delivery doing nothing at all to dull the suggestion of submission.

Kakashi leaves it hanging. Smiles smugly, knowing just how well it will wind Obito up. Smiles wider, when on cue, Obito switches from wilfully haughty to altogether _stifling._ Allup in Kakashi’s space, a commanding swagger from the counter that's plastered with posters from past gigs to slot between Kakashi’s legs. 

Lips brush Kakashi’s ear, send a wave of goosebumps down his neck, as Obito leans in. Whispers, “Is that right?” 

It reeks of alcohol and sweat. Kakashi’s used to it by now, so much so that it’s just background, a fuzzy baseline funk. Amongst it, Obito smells like heaven, hinoki and osmanthus. 

Kakashi turns his head quick enough to nip Obito’s skin where a tiny tattooed ‘K’ skims the ratty hairline beneath his left lobe. He tastes like salt, slightly bitter, all real. Addictive and organic.

Kakashi gives the skin a lick, flat tongue wet-hot and crude in the way it searches. 

Obito shivers. Grumbles as he steals closer, “You never play fair.” His waist is warm where Kakashi settles both his hands and Obito melts under the touch. Gets a knee up then another until he’s in Kakashi’s lap, wrists braced on the back of the chair where they cage Kakashi in.

“Fair is subjective,” Kakashi says. Tightens his grip until a low purr of satisfaction rumbles in Obito’s chest. “And I’m not playing.”

“Liar,” Obito breathes. Rolls his hips, a stab of warmth blooming where their groins meet. Pulls back just enough to look at Kakashi directly. Thick lashes, long and dark, flutter when Kakashi’s thumbs dig into the hollows of his strong hips and rub in slow, maddening circles. He’s beautiful as he begins with that furious, rude mouth, “You’re being a total asshat—”

Kakashi shuts him up with a kiss, lips hard against Obito’s, savage as he slides a possessive hand to fist into soil-brown hair, cropped short and gorgeously messy. Kakashi tugs, and Obito gasps at the pain that ignites across his scalp. Kakashi is _greedy_. Never really mastered the art of being a gentle lover. Sometimes he gets a little rough. But Obito moans when he pulls and moans when he bites and moans when he leaves a trail of throbbing bruises.

He moans right now, throat working to swallow the spit that mingles as their tongues tangle like eels, insistent and electric. 

The friction is real as Obito grinds down on Kakashi’s thighs, denim-clad knees slipping where they’re struggling to maintain grip on either side. Kakashi holds him, locks his arm like an iron bar under Obito’s ass—and, _Kami_ , what an ass—to haul Obito up, turn them both around. Then abandoning any recourse of courteous forewarning, Kakashi dumps Obito flat onto his back so that he’s sprawled out on the hardwood table, legs spread and dangling off the edge. 

Obito squawks. Grapples for purchase, sharp nails scrabbling wild at shoulders, arms, anything to cling to. Gives up, head thudding back, and lets himself be ravaged, Kakashi’s hot mouth fitting to his jaw, his throat. 

“Shit,” Obito grits out. Bucks up as Kakashi latches onto a nipple, snaring the hard bud between his front teeth and nipping it sharply. When he sucks, it gets Obito babbling, “Yeah, harder. Make it last. C’mon.”

“Someone’s antsy,” Kakashi muses. Drags sharp incisors across the flushed skin of his chest, blood drawing to the surface, as he cracks a crooked grin. Gropes Obito’s cock through his jeans, making him whimper as the cold, metal zipper chafes his length. “Couldn’t even keep your shirt on past 10pm. Dare I say, another health code breach. And don’t even get me started on the lack of shoes.”

“Shut up,” Obito snaps, bitchy even as he squirms, a desperate attempt to get more pressure. “It’s your fault that the aircon still hasn’t been fixed.”

“Hmm.” Kakashi pauses. Removes his palm despite the look Obito shoots him, nothing short of murderous, to absently scratch his chin. Not playing— _yeah, right_. “Last time I checked you had at least two fingers and knew how to use a phone, so—” A rush of air punches out of him as Obito kicks him in the chest, hard enough to make him stagger. “Jesus. What the—?”

Obito glowers. 

“C’mon,” he demands. “What are you waiting for?” He kicks his leg out again, half-heartedly this time. Blindly hooks his ankle around Kakashi’s hip. Hauls Kakashi in as he repeats with pent-up urgency, “ _Come on_.”

When Kakashi is too slow, Obito bristles. Huffs and grabs his hand. Presses it to the bulge that distorts his pants, hips jerking as he rubs. Kakashi feels him, hard and eager. Feels his own desire igniting yet doesn’t move. He loves Obito like this. A little mean, a lot demanding.

“Touch me,” Obito mumbles, an order not a request. Still, he’s surprisingly gentle as he guides Kakashi’s fingers to his straining zip. “Just—take them off.”

“Can’t manage yourself?”

“Job’s already half-done, man. You’re so lazy _.”_

“If anyone here is lazy,” Kakashi begins, fingers dipping not more than an inch beneath the Obito’s waistband to brush the head of his dick that’s already leaking, “I’d say it’s the person who’s not wearing any boxers because he hasn’t any done laundry for two weeks.” He skims Obito’s cockhead again, this time with his thumb. Stokes down under the glans; gives it a steady nudge, once, twice, until Obito gasps.

“You complaining ‘bout the ease of access?”

“I don’t think that ‘ease’ and ‘access’ have ever been an issue with you,” Kakashi chuckles. “No matter how many clothes you wear.”

“What about the hazmat suit?”

“If you’ll remember correctly, I cut the ass out of that in seconds,” Kakashi says, eye curving up with guileless mirth, as if he isn’t digging his fingertip into Obito’s slit right that second.

Obito arches, moans, and like this, he’s still the best thing that Kakashi has ever seen. He takes the sudden spike in heat that hits him like a freight train as his cue. Strips Obito out of his jeans, at least down to the ankles, where his own impatience, building, devalues any attempt to battle with the foot holes. 

He folds over Obito. Catches his mouth to probe deeply with his tongue, grabbing his cock in earnest, the weight of his shaft pulsing and thick, deliciously heavy as he fists it. Slides the circle of his palm from base to tip, up, down, up, down, Obito thrusting to the rhythm, pelvis colliding with Kakashi’s stomach with each crest. 

Kakashi’s cool goes out the window. 

With a clumsy hand, he dives his hand into his pocket, digging out his wallet. Opens it up enough to grab a small, single-use packet of lube that Obito cajoled him into carrying for when the _mood might take him—_ for instance now, 2am on a Sunday in the middle of a bar that’s forced them into so much debt they live in the storage rooms upstairs and rent out their apartment in Okubo at twice the cost. 

Beneath him, Obito shakes. Fumbles with the cotton hem of Kakashi’s long sleeve top, emblazoned with an embroidered ‘Ariel Pink’—who Obito _swears_ is the most pretentious, wank-off poseur to ever exist and how could Kakashi even _suggest_ that _Dedicated to Bobby Jameson_ is a better album than Can’s _Ege Bamyasi_ —and Kakashi’s belt. Gets his shirt up and his pants undone then immediately paws the exposed skin like it’s a lifeline, like it’s all the money they don’t have.

Kakashi hums, distracted as he slicks his fingers up, the other hand, wet with precum, drifting to Obito’s throat to pin him down. He tests Obito’s rim, hooking a finger in as he skims the soft, twitching hole. 

Obito gives a feeble grunt, dick flexing as it drips. Tilts his pelvis down, belly pulling taut in a wordless plea for _more_ and _deeper._

Kakashi delivers. Makes Obito sigh, high and long, as he pushes two fingers in and slowly scissors them open. 

“Yessss,” Obito groans, thighs spasming as he clamps down on the intrusion. His hands grip Kakashi’s forearms, dotting half-moons along the raised veins where his sleeves are pushed up to midway.

Then just to be a prick, Kakashi murmurs, “Question.”

“Hmphh. _Hnn?_ ” is Obito’s sagacious rejoinder, hips surging and his needy huffs coming out quicker with each drag of Kakashi’s knuckles at his entrance.

“Big Black or Swans?”

“Big Black. Nothing— _nghhh_ —beats _Songs about fucking_.”

“Agreed. Sun Kil Moon or Mount Eerie?”

Obito squeaks and it’s _precious_. “Are—there, oh there, oh there, oh there. Hah. _There_ —you for real?” 

“Humour me,” Kakashi goads, stroking inside slowly just to feel Obito quiver.

“Mount Eerie, you dick. _Big_ fuck you, Hatake.” Obito’s eyes are closed, brows furrowed, fuchsia flooding his cheeks as he wheezes.

“Last question—”

“You have got to be _kidding_ me.”

“—are my fingers deep enough?”

Obito _whines_. 

Joggles his head from side to side, an emphatic _no_.

Kakashi plunges in, twists and curls his digits. Adds a third and Obito chokes on a vicious sob. Kakashi watches where they disappear, where his hole just takes it, clenching lewdly when he slips out to drive back in harder. 

Obito gasps and writhes. Pulls Kakashi’s hair, pulls at his clothes. Pulls Kakashi _closer_. Cuts a breeze through the fervid warmth, the sweat, the dank, as he pants against Kakashi’s neck, crying out with each pass that grazes his prostate. When he can’t take it anymore, he starts to chant, “Fuck me, fuck me, _fuck me._ ” Kisses Kakashi anywhere he can reach, filthy and desperate, open-mouthed and hot.

Kakashi snarls. Pulls out his fingers, roughly flips Obito over, stomach down on the table, and promptly drags him to the edge. Flings his shirt off, somewhere, who cares—just needs the direct contact. 

Obito’s partly standing, mostly leaning, boneless and outrageous, legs spread and trembling when Kakashi parts his cheeks, blows along his crack and licks a searing stripe right up the middle. 

“Oh, god!” Obito shouts, knees buckling.

Kakashi’s hips cant forward, an involuntary jolt that makes him snarl again, predatory and entirely primal. With one hand on Obito’s ass, he frees his cock from his pants, shaft blood-dark and throbbing. Gives it a pump. Gives it another, a shock of pleasure through his groin. Then he’s pushing the blunt head to Obito’s hole, slipping past the tight ring of muscle, to bury into sloppy heat.

“Shit,” Kakashi spits, voice breaking on a fractured moan as he sinks in, right to the hilt in one smooth motion. His palms curl around Obito’s waist, hold so tight he feels the thud of Obito’s heart as the blood pounds through his wire-tense body. The way Obito moves, shoving back onto his dick, skyrockets the want, atomises Kakashi’s dwindling composure until there’s nothing but rasping breath and beading humidity in the damp, scant space between them.

He asks, slightly overwrought, “How’s that feel, Sunshine?”

“Less talking,” Obito slurs, drunk on being jostled around and thoroughly dicked-down. “More fucking— _yeah_. Ah, Yeah. That’s good. That’s—”

“Scale of one to My Bloody Valentine, how much do you love me?”

“God, Bakashi. Shut up! Just— _nghhhh_. Hah— _ah!”_

Kakashi laughs, wrecked and feeling reckless. Fucks in faster. His blood’s on fire and Obito is a furnace, making everything more and better and best. Almost stammers as he barks outs, “Tell me you’re close. Tell me that you’re close.”

“Mnh-hmm,” Obito whines. “Don’t stop. I’ll fucking murder you if you stop.”

Like he could— _stop._

Six solid feet of unadulterated sex beneath him, thrashing and grinding, and Kakashi fucks in hard, already feeling the fraught low pressure build as the pleasure spirals upward. Increases ten-fold with each spill of Kakashi’s name from Obito’s lips, punctuated with broken whimpers, unchecked gasps with every brutal thrust. 

Obito’s legs are _useless_ , feet scuttling on the floor in search of leverage, upper torso fully immobilised by Kakashi’s bulk, chest sealed like plastic wrap to Obito’s knobby spine as he bows and bends, the swell of his rump rounding up perfectly each time Kakashi’s groin slaps loud against Obito’s thighs. 

When he fights to raise his head from where it hangs between his bolstered arms, Kakashi contorts until he can catch Obito’s lips. He pries them open with his tongue. 

The wet glide of Obito’s mouth and the new angle of his cock, deep in Obito’s ass, sets off a violent, full-scale shiver. Amplifies the crippling squeeze of Obito’s rim, his slick inner walls on Kakashi’s aching shaft. _This_ is the diamond action, one hand in Obito’s hair, pulling him back onto his dick, the other on Obito’s cock, now, tugging at his length as his nerves start to buzz and his arms start to cramp and mind snags and goes still. “Fuck,” he breathes. Drops his head between Obito’s shoulders, forehead pressed to his surging muscles, the shifting bones. “I’m— _Obito_. I’m—”

Obito beats him to it. Cums with a groan that sounds like he’s spent 15 whole years trying to pry the lids off sour plum jam jars, and Kakashi, still thrusting like a savage, his own release _right there_ , can’t help but cackle in delight, clutching Obito’s spasming body. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Obito chides, inflamed and glorious. 

“I-I—” Kakashi stutters.

“Hurry up and fucking cum, Bakashi!”

“Do you have to be such an— _oh_. Oh, shit. Oh, _shit_ —” 

Kakashi shakes apart, unloading into Obito with a string of dogged cursing spewing from his bitten lips, swollen and hurting in a way that has him _glowing_ , hands smoothing down Obito’s sides before he slumps, goes down like a sack of rice. 

Obito doesn’t even give him a minute.

“Jesus. _Get off._ ” 

A pointy elbow connects, hard, with Kakashi’s ribs but Kakashi doesn’t budge. Opts, instead, to cuddle in, wrap his arms all the way around Obito’s middle where he’s squashed and bent like a fried egg sagging off a plate. Cooling cum coats Kakashi’s fingers; more dribbles down his thighs from Obito’s ass to pool in his pants that are crudely shoved down to mid-thigh. 

He pulls out but stays there, pressed to Obito’s skin, basking in his warmth, the comfort of his scent, his steady heartbeat.

Obito continues to pretend he utterly loathes this _—intimacy_. But this is nothing new. Kakashi knows the secret language. Has learned to read the subtle gestures. See underneath the underneath. 

Uchiha Obito was a gamble. All death-or-glory, an ill-advised and wistful leap of faith. And when Obito doesn’t move; when he sighs instead, satisfied, as his fingers gently curl around Kakashi’s wrist to keep him close, maintain the contact—Kakashi knows. That, even if this shitty hellhole burns to the shitty, split foundations, he made the right decision. Obito is his worn pair boots waiting by the door, all the gaps in his recall, all the aches that can’t shake, the dog-eared pages in his porn. 

In his hypnagogic state, he contemplates saying this out loud, or at least some variation, perhaps less mawkish, something that won’t make Obito flinch, when he hears—

“Hey.”

Obito jerks. Lets loose a startled shout, shrill and indecipherable. Makes to quickly stand, head colliding with Kakashi’s chin so hard his jaw audibly clacks.

“Why—what the heck?! Aoba?”

Obito’s scrabbling for his pants and, when he finds that they’re not near enough, grabs Kakashi’s long-sleeved top off the floor and ties it around his hips. Kakashi doesn’t bother, softening dick hanging out on display and wholly indifferent. After all, it’s nothing Aoba hasn’t seen before—not with their history of shared houses. 

Obito balks at his lack of shame. Drags Kakashi behind him to defend his shoddy honour, valiant and very cute, while Aoba mumbles from the booth by the wall that he must have been asleep in, “I had the weirdest dream… Obito was a _… cat..._ and he was...he was _howling_. He wouldn’t stop! Wow. Like, dude. Don’t ever be a cat. Hey, why are you—are you guy’s _naked_?” 

And that’s all it takes for Obito to lunge. 

* * *

This time when Kakashi bolts the door, the bar truly empty, now, save for his disgruntled lover still grouching over the intruder who is thankfully one of their best friends’, the only thing on Kakashi’s mind is that he wouldn’t trade his failures, his dues, all his regrets for anything, ever, never. Not when he has this. 

(Not even for Ariel Pink).

This place is—

Home. 

**Author's Note:**

> FACT: Kakashi would totally hate Ariel Pink. 
> 
> I rly enjoyed writing this even tho I was nervous abt posting! Kakaobi are dream boys to write. I have a couple of Kakaobi long fics on the way (Canon-divergent & AU) but feel free to send prompts to tumblr @wethatake. Much love x 
> 
> Spotify playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1EOIns5yW2KLgOqn2wegrA?si=01eH1wShS6K1xbwl7E04UA)  
> 


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